Judy Moody Declares Independence Read Free Page B

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    Look out, world! Judy mixed some water into the black powder that came with the pen, dipped the feather pen into the ink, and wrote:

    She signed it in cursive with fancy squiggles, just like Mr. Revolution Himself, First Signer of the Declaration, John Hancock. And she made it big so Dad could see it without his reading glasses, just like they did for King George.
    Judy ran downstairs wearing her tricorn hat. Where was Mouse? Judy found her curled up in the dirty-laundry pile. She jingled her cat like a bell. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” she called. Mom, Dad, and Stink came into the family room.
    “I will now hereby read my very own Judy Moody Declaration of Independence, made hereby on this day, the 4th of Judy. I hereby stand up for these alien rights — stuff like Life, Liberty, and definitely the Purse of Happiness.” Judy cleared her throat. “Did I say
hereby
?”
    “Only ten hundred times,” said Stink.
    Judy read the list aloud, just like a town crier (not town crybaby). At the end, she took off her tricorn hat and said, “Give me liberty or give me death!”
    “Very funny,” said Dad.
    “Very clever,” said Mom.
    “No way do you get to stay up later than me,” said Stink.
    “So you agree?” Judy asked Mom and Dad. “I should get all these freedoms? And a bunch more allowance?”
    “We didn’t say that,” said Dad.
    “We’ll think it over, honey,” said Mom.
    “Think it over?” said Judy. Thinking it over was worse than maybe. Thinking it over meant only one thing — N-O.
    Then Dad started talking like a sugar packet. “Freedom doesn’t come without a price, you know,” he told Judy.
    “Dad’s right,” said Mom. “If you want more freedom, you’re going to have to earn it — show us you can be more responsible.”
    Judy looked over her list. “Can I at least have Alien Right Number One? If I didn’t have to brush my hair every day, I’d have more time to be responsible.”
    “Nice try,” said Dad.
    Parents! Mom and Dad were just like King George, making up Bad Laws all the time.
    “You guys always tell me it’s good to stand up for stuff. Speak up for yourself and everything.” Judy held up her Declaration. “That’s what I just did. But I’m not even one teeny bit more free. That really stinks on ice!”
    “Tell you what.” Mom looked over the list. “You can have your own washcloth.” Dad started to laugh but turned it into a cough.
    “Tori has her own phone AND her own bathroom. And pounds of allowance. She can buy all the Bonjour Bunny stuff she wants, without even asking. And she drinks tea. And wakes herself up with her own alarm clock. And she has sleepovers in her flat that’s not a tire.”
    “We’re not talking about Tori,” said Mom. “We’re talking about you.”
    Crumb cakes! She, Judy Moody, did not have any new freedoms at all. Not one single alien right from her list. All she had was a lousy washcloth.
    “ROAR!” said Judy.
    “If you don’t want the washcloth, I’ll take it,” said Stink.

Judy went to bed her same old un-free self. But the next morning, she decided Mom and Dad and the world would see a brand-new Judy Moody. A free and independent Judy. A more responsible Judy. Even on a school day.
    Judy started by getting out of bed (without an alarm clock) before her mom had to shake her awake.
    Next, she brushed her teeth without complaining. Mom had set out a new blue washcloth — a plain old boring blue washcloth, but it was just for her. Judy wrote
Bonjour Bunny
on it, and made the capital
B
s into funny bunny ears.

    Then Judy did something she had not done for three days. She brushed her hair (and put on her Bonjour Bunny headband from Tori). A responsible person did not have bird’s-nest hair.
    Then Judy did something she had not done for three weeks. She made her bed. A grown-up, independent person did not have a bed that looked like a yard sale.
    On the bus, Judy told Rocky about the star-spangled bananas at the Giant Milk